


spitting image

by kickassanakin



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, DMC Gen Week, Gen, Mentions of alcoholism, mentions of Vergil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 19:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickassanakin/pseuds/kickassanakin
Summary: Nero has an uncanny and unfortunate resemblance to someone Dante didn't think he'd ever see again.... Outside of his worst nightmares, at least.(A fic for DMC Gen Week, prompt: nightmare)





	spitting image

**Author's Note:**

> *dabs* bet ya didn't know i was into devil may cry, huh
> 
> uhhh this takes place in the cutscene at the end of 4 where dante gives nero the yamato, i was like, "hm, let's delve into dante's trauma," because that's just what i do now i guess

Well, the kid had done it. 

Which was kind of a relief, if Dante was being honest. Not that he couldn’t have handed this latest big bad, but it was always nice to know that there was someone else out there with the firepower to take out “end of the world”-level threats. Meant he could take more vacations. 

Okay, he couldn’t really afford to take any vacations, but it was the principle of the thing. He could rely on this kid, if it ever came down to it.

For better or for worse, though, watching Nero work was kind of… uncomfortable. The way he moved, the way he talked, the way he fought, it reminded him of someone that he’d rather not think about. 

For the past few years, Dante had been haunted by the ghost of his mistakes. He tried to bury it in booze and jobs and whatever other little distractions he could come up with, but it was always there, at the back of his mind, waiting for him to slip up. In the moments where his mind wandered, the nightmares reared up and attacked at full force. Consumed with guilt, the only way out was to drink himself stupid and hope that the resulting headache the next morning would drive it all off. 

He had lost his brother. No, scratch that - he had  _ killed _ his brother. Multiple times. When you kill your own flesh and blood, you’re not a good person. You don’t get to feel guilty, or lonely, or pitiable. You aren’t allowed to mourn. 

But he did. He couldn’t help it. He had lived for so long thinking that he was alone, one half of a whole. There was no way he could have prepared for the knowledge that one half of a whole might be better than two halves that are too broken to come back together. When he saw his brother for the first time, almost ten years since they were separated… he couldn’t kid himself. He had known right off the bat that something was wrong. His brother was different, not in a “I hate olives on pizza and you love it” kind of way, more like a “our moral standings are on complete opposite sides of the good/bad spectrum” thing. 

That didn’t stop Dante from wanting, though. Things couldn’t go back to how they were before - after all, they were much older, and his brother was absorbed by this obsessive pursuit of power - but they could have rekindled some of that brotherly connection and started anew. At least, that’s what he had hoped for, at first. 

Dante, of course, should have known better. He never got what he wanted. In the end, his brother had done something monstrous. Dante had stopped him. And then he died. Dante could do nothing more than watch as he lost his only family left to the darkness… again. 

And then -

He didn’t like to think about the island. So he didn’t.

Those thoughts were for the worst nights, when his mental walls were at their limit and he couldn’t hold back his grief. 

He had a feeling one of those nights would be creeping up on him again, soon.

So to say that this mission, with this kid that was a spitting image of the thing that haunted Dante at his worst moments, was a little tough? Hell of an overstatement. 

But Nero was oblivious to all of Dante’s angst. Most people were, anyways. He did everything he could to cover it up. He didn’t want anyone to pity him. Nobody should pity a guy like him. He didn’t deserve it.

When Nero came back from beating the demon statue into dust, a look on his dour face that betrayed the smile he was trying so hard to hide, Dante couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own. He really was just a kid. 

Dante didn’t know how he happened. The “when” of things was pretty obvious, but the “why” escaped him. He doubted that his brother even knew Nero was running around at the time. If he had, then maybe he wouldn’t have done… everything that he’d done. 

Looking at Nero’s breathless little smile was difficult. It tugged at the part of Dante’s heart that he locked away tighter than a fourteen year-old girl’s secret diary. Password protect that shit, like one of those diaries with the voice-recognizing lock. What’s the password - “Brother trauma?” Bingo. 

“Nice job, kid.” Now that he had no other reason to stick around, no one could blame him if he just, left, right? He wasn’t supposed to stay here and play uncle to this little kid… right? He wasn’t sure if he was capable of it. 

“I guess I should thank you.” Well, Nero looked confident enough. He didn’t need someone to hold his demonic hand and teach him how to be an adult. 

Dante smirked at him. “All in a day’s work.” He really would need to drink tonight. If only to get this kid’s stupid grin out of his head. 

But… he couldn’t just. Walk off. Right? That would be rude. 

Okay, so he didn’t really care if he was rude or not. But Nero… somehow, this kid was family. He’d feel bad if he just waltzed off into the sunset. He’d left so much of his family behind already.

He reached out and ruffled the kid’s hair. That’s what a good uncle does, right? Annoyance in the name of love? 

God, he really was not hip with the times. Someone should have taught him this shit. 

Nero made a face and wriggled out of Dante’s reach. “Don’t touch my hair.” He looked kind of disgusted as he pushed his hair back-

The entire world stopped moving as Dante’s breath caught in his throat.

So. Messing with his hair was a bad idea. If not for the fact that Nero clearly hadn’t been a fan, then because Nero with his hair pushed back looked just like his dead brother. 

This whole job had been one shitty reminder after another, and this was the last straw on the whole shitty cake. Camel’s back. Whatever, mixing metaphors was cool. Dante had had enough. 

He turned around, unwilling to look Nero in the eyes again. “I’ll be off.” 

“Wait!” Nero called after him before he could even take a few steps. “Your sword.” 

Dante could see him in his mind’s eye now, holding out the Yamato, hair still up, the spitting image of- 

“Keep it.” He kept walking. “These kinds of things are best kept in the family.” He couldn’t turn around and face the image he knew would greet him.

“But,” Oh god, Nero, drop it already! “You said this was important to you.” He sounded so… confused. Shit, he was just a kid. 

Against all better judgement, Dante turned around and faced his demons. 

Well, devil. Singular. 

There was Vergil. Except he was younger, somehow… softer. He looked at Dante in a way the real Vergil never had. He held the Yamato out towards him, something the real Vergil would never do. He had a look in his eyes, like a puppy dog that’s been scolded, or like Vergil had when their father lectured him against stabbing his brother full of swords for being “too annoying”. 

Damn it. “That’s the only kind of gift worth giving.” He felt like the smile he gave Nero then was cracked and frayed, like it was moments from shattering. But the kid took it. He lowered the hand that held the Yamato. 

Dante took that as his excuse to go. He turned back around and-

“... Will I ever see you again?” He sounded hopeful. 

Jesus. Hopefully, no. 

He liked Nero. He was glad there was someone else out there like him. But he couldn’t stand to be haunted by his brother even more than he already was. If this conversation proved anything to Dante, it was that he just couldn’t handle this walking, talking reminder of his living nightmare.

But he already let one family member die. This kid was probably the last chance he’d ever get at having a real family. If he got hurt because of the nature of their very existence, well, Dante had no idea what he’d do with himself. It would be just like he’d killed Vergil all over again - but this time, it wouldn’t be Vergil. It was his son. 

The sins of the father did not pass on to the son. Dante held no real hatred for Nero. He just felt sad, horribly sad, that he’d never be able to give this kid the kind of family relationship they both desperately needed. Dante felt too damaged inside to ever be a good uncle. 

In the end, giving Nero the Yamato was his way of protecting Vergil’s son. He didn’t think he could stand to see this kid ever again. At least, he wasn’t ready for that just yet. 

But Dante didn’t say any of that. He just raised a hand in the air and kept walking. 

As he knew all too well at that point, he never got what he wanted. 

It would only be a matter of time before they see each other again. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! this is my first dmc fic so lmk what you think!
> 
> one day i will write a beautiful travis touchdown/dante fic and then you will all realize. but until then i will survive on dante's brother trauma mm delicious


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